And ev’ry manly breast
Shook off the unnerving load of rest;
And Virtue chasing the foul forms of night,
Rose like a summer sun, and shed a golden light.
ANTISTROPHE I.
But, ah! how sunk her veiled head,
Untimely dimm’d by Gaul’s o’ershadowing pow’r—
And shalt thou rise, fair isle, no more?
Thy patriot heroes sleep among the dead:
Thy gallant virtues all are fled;